Edinburgh Adventure

My fingers intertwined with Greg's as we walked down the old cobblestones up Edinburgh's High Street. I'd already stripped my jacket off and tied it around my waist, my bared arms warming up in the sun on for this bright, beautiful, late summer Scottish day. We'd just arrived by train, three days out from our wedding, one day into this "exotic" (hey, why can't Scotland can be "exotic"?) honeymoon.

Greg and I had been together for three years, since we'd met at the first day of class at a community college. The school had set up a little table with free coffee for new students, and I had just taken a sip when I heard a friendly voice next to me.

"Judging by your face right now, I think I'd better go out for some Starbucks."

I'd turned to my left and saw the man I would marry—not that I knew it then, but I like the way the story sounds that way. He was smiling from the corner of his mouth and his eyes were wide, like he was waiting to see how I'd react to his line. I definitely hadn't expected to meet guys here—at least, not on the first day—but he was cute, I was single, and all the college orientation self-congratulatory crap had totally gone to my head, so I was feeling good about life. And decided to give him a chance.

I smiled back at him. "Yeah, this is pretty bad," I said, lifting my thin paper cup and scrunching up my nose. "It tastes like a truck tire lying in a mud puddle."

"Wow, that sounds...terrible."

"Yeah, well, it is free coffee...from a community college..." I trailed off.

"Mmmhmm, you get what you paid for," he nodded in agreement. "Well,"—here came the pitch!, his face told me—"I apologize in the name of this lovely institution of higher learning. On behalf of the school, I'd like to take you out for a replacement coffee after class, no charge." His voice came through with confidence but without pompousness. Sure, it was a bit of a goofy pick-up line, but he looked happy making his offer.

In my mind I'd already said yes, but I didn't want the conversation to end yet. My smile stayed on my face but I lifted my eyebrows. "Are you offering a free coffee as a replacement for a free coffee? I thought that 'you get what you paid for?'"

"Most the Starbucks playlist and the sound of me telling you how beautiful you are."

I wish I hadn't blushed at that, but I did. He was good.

"Judging by your face right now, I'll take that as a yes," he said with a grin. A drop of smugness came to his eyes, but the good kind. The kind that lets you know that your own attraction is welcomed. And reciprocated.

Part of me knew that I should have felt so good at this man's attention without even knowing his name, but I could only nod shyly to his assertion.

He held out his hand, open and facing up. "I'm Greg, by the way."

I put my hand in his softly and said, "Jenny."

He lifted my hand slightly. It felt elegant, and I felt weightless.

We dated for two years before moving in together, and then waited another year to get married. Greg made me feel weightless the whole time, always quick to compliment and slow to criticize. We had chemistry where and when it counted—our first time together was a spectacular lunchtime romp in the women's room in the campus theater—and we'd kept it going throughout our relationship.

I was happy, Greg was happy. We'd decided to travel for our honeymoon, since neither of us had ever been abroad. I'd read that J.K. Rowling had written the Harry Potter series in a breakfast bar in Edinburgh and basically used that as a planning point of our trip. We were saving money to start a family, and figured we could do Scotland fairly cheaply by going the backpacker route. The UK has a great train system and they give foreigners good deals to encourage tourism. And there are youth hostels all over the place, so if you're willing to tolerate the unglamorous accommodations, you can do the whole country without breaking the bank.

"Ooh, look, a Loch Ness monster museum!" I said, pointing to a narrow storefront with a 6-foot wide wooden dinosaur over the entrance.

"Are you serious?" Greg said, laughing. "I'm not spending—" he peered at the small sign on the door, "—ha, twenty pounds a person so I can hear how a few drunk Highlanders made up a story about a mythical creature to promote local tourism!"

"Well I wouldn't spend it either, but I just think it's cool. Like finding a Bigfoot museum back home."

Greg paused and thought for a moment. "If you were walking down Main Street USA and saw a small sign on an obscure door that said 'Bigfoot Museum,' would you be more likely to go in and pay for admission or laugh at the people who went in and paid admission."

"Good point, though I'd probably laugh at the people who went in even if it was free."

Greg hmmphed and shifted his pack on his shoulders in triumph.

"Stop loving being right," I teased.

"But...I do love being right," he confessed. He peered out of the corner of his eye at me. "You should try it sometime."

I hit him in the shoulder and we continued down the road.

We'd started at the top of the main hill in the older section of the city (took a taxi—no way I was walking up all the way!), where the enormous castle is. It's full of Scottish history and the Scottish crown jewels and all that fun stuff. The city runs straight down the main street—called "High Street"—and way at the other end is a relatively newer castle called Holyrood, where the royal family stays when they're in town.

We reached the end of High Street around noon, right on schedule. My backpack was just starting to get heavy, and the thought of our planned picnic lunch made me feel just right. Holyrood stood in front of us. A bit shorter than I'd imagined, but the towers and old stones were colored with history and looked romantic all the same.

"God I'm hungry," Greg said just as I was about to remark on our timing.

"Me too, babe. The guidebook says that Holyrood has this amazing royal garden, so hopefully we can find a nice sunny spot. And it doesn't look too crowded," I said. Most of the few folks who went through the main entrance gate seemed to be heading for the castle, not the garden. "I say we skip the tour for now and just eat."

"I agree," Greg said. "Let's go!"

We paid for entry and took the garden path. The guidebook didn't disappoint. Groves of pines and wildflowers, all immaculately kept and maintained. A sign near the entrance had said that the local lords who were in charge of the castle when the Queen was away had a tradition of being ready for the monarch to visit, unannounced, at any time. And it certainly looked to us like the grounds were living up to that tradition.

We found a nice secluded patch of grass encircled by shrubs and a little stone fountain right in the middle, with just a little break in the bushes for an entrance. We didn't have a blanket or anything, but the sun was shining brightly and we settled right onto the warm lawn. Sandwiches and water bottles came out of our packs and disappeared just as quickly. Our shoes and socks followed quickly. Soon we were on our backs, side to side, our arms behind our heads and our naked toes wiggling in the subtle breeze. Our shorts would probably get some nice grass stains, but I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment.

"This is a great spot," I said, my eyes taking in the contrast of the luxurious blue of the sky and the crisp green of the leaves.

I felt Greg twitch nervously next to me.

"What's wrong," I asked, raising myself to my elbows and looking at him.

"Nothing, nothing," Greg muttered, shaking his head. He kept wiggling and then added, "I have to pee."

I relaxed and giggled. "Is that wiggling the pee dance?"

He pulled his head up and knees in. His feet were tapping. "It's more of a pee jig at this point."

"Oh, so not yet at the stage of a pee dance?" I inquired, trying to hide my smile with little success

"Something like that. Although it's going to turn into a dance pretty quick. It's that damn fountain!" he said, pointing to the babbling centerpiece. "The sound of...flowing water is making me need to go so bad. And I don't want to walk all the way back to the castle to find a bathroom. Not yet, anyway."

I frowned a bit. After our hectic day of traveling to get here—plane, train, long walk—I also didn't want to interrupt our moment of serenity here.

"Maybe there's a bathroom in the garden?" I suggested.

"Nah, I don't remember seeing any on the map by the entrance." Greg stood up and started bouncing from foot to foot.

I laughed aloud now. "Ah, so is this the pee dance?" I asked, pointing to his shuffling.

He laughed, too, although he didn't stop moving. "Oh please, this is the pee...frolic."

"Sure, OK. And what does the pee dance look like, again?" I asked.

He put on a serious face. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. The pee dance is a sacred ritual that only occurs when the moon is just right and the tides are in alignment."

I couldn't help but crack up. "You know, you might be more believable if your legs weren't doing the 'pee frolic' the whole time you were talking."

"Seriously, I can't help it! I've got to go back to the castle. I'll be right back," he said, and started off.

He spun right around. "Nope, not gonna make it. I've got to go in the royal garden," he said, and he went up to the tallest of the shrubs that made up the wall around our grass circle and started to unzip.

"What? You can't just pee—" I started to yell, then caught myself and lowered my voice. "—You can't just pee in the royal garden!" I shout-whispered. My eyes darted to the small entrance in the shrubs on the far side of the circle. No sign of a guard or anything, at least not yet.

"Too late," Greg said, his back to me. I could tell that he was fumbling with his pants to let his dick out. The sound of a stream of liquid hitting dirt came quickly after.

"Oh my god," I said. "Oh my god. You're peeing in the Queen's garden. They're going to catch us and kick us and all our descendants out of Great Britain for a thousand years."

"Don't be so dramatic! I really had to go," Greg said, still peeing. "Besides, I haven't seen or heard another soul this whole time. All the tourists are in the castle and the gardeners are probably inside, too, having tea and crumpets or something. Plus it's basically fertilizer, they should be thanking me."

"Ha! Well don't hold your breath. I don't think you ought to expect the Queen to reward you for taking a leak on her bushes."

I heard him finish and he put himself back into his pants. He washed his hands in the fountain, dried them in the grass, and came back to where I was sitting.

"I can't believe you did that," I said as he sat down beside me. "You could've gotten caught!"

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I didn't." He put his hand on my bare leg and rubbed it affectionately. "By the way, you look so sexy right now," he said with a twinkle.

"Uh," I started, "thank you?"

He didn't say any but just looked at me. And started rubbing my leg a bit less affectionately and a bit more suggestively.

I was a little confused. "Greg, what's gotten into you?" I questioned.

"Nothing," he said lightly. "I just think you're really, really hot," he continued. His lips creased and pursed in anticipation. For a split second his eyes darted to the break in the shrub wall, and then they returned to me.

I nodded in understanding. "Ah, I see what's happening here. You had an adrenaline rush after you didn't get caught doing you did your little..." I waved my hand towards where he'd 'fertilized' the bushes, "gardening or whatever, and now you're feeling adventurous."

"When you're right, you're right," he replied. He leaned in and we shared a kiss. His lips and skin were warm and inviting and I slipped an arm around his neck.

"What do you have in mind, oh husband of mine?" I asked, breaking away the kiss and tilting my head quizzingly. "I assume your idea of adventure is more expansive that just a kiss near a fountain."

Greg answered with a smile and took my chin in his head, but instead of landing his lips on mine, he nudged my chin up and started planing kisses down my neck. A chill went sizzled down my back and through my legs, my toes curling in anticipation of whatever he was planning. I put my arms out behind me and shifting my weight onto them.

He kept his lips on me, meandering from neck to collarbone. He tugged my shirt to expose a shoulder and lightly nibbled the tight skin around the bra strap. His hand slipped behind my back and pressed again me. I relaxed my arms and let him lower me carefully to the ground.

The grass tickled the back of my neck and I shivered in pleasure as he roamed down my chest and took a gentle, open-mouthed bite on my breast. I was sure he could feel my nipples already swelling from his attention, and he let his teeth graze my nipple through my shirt and bra. He tweaked it with his tongue while he brought his lips closer, pulling with his lips. Even through my clothes I could feel his tugging and let out a low moan as encouragement. My hand rose lazily from my side and found the nape of his neck, toying with the end of his hair as he brought his own hand up and took the other nipple between two skillful fingers, rolling it between the side of his thumb and knuckle of his index finger.

I moaned again, this time unintentionally. The warmth from his touch, the grass, the sun and the air crawl up my legs and gathered between them. My hips squirmed imperceptibly as my body spread the pleasure I was feeling and prepared for more.

Greg alternated between my breasts with mouth and hands for a few moments. I thought that this was all he had intended, and started to trace my hand down his body to get between my legs; I loved getting off with my fingers while he sucked my breasts, and was happy to do this with him now.

But he had other plans. He reached back and caught my hand as it was at his hip and pulled lightly brought it back to his hair, and then to the top of his head. I didn't apply any pressure but he acted as though I was pushing his down further down my body, taking his mouth of my nipples and down my belly.

My heart pounded as I realized what he was after: he was going to eat me out, here, in the garden! The thought was so hot, the heat rushing through my pelvis. I could feel my pussy getting wet and I spread my legs as Greg's mouth approached the top of my shorts. He jumped from my belly to my bare legs and planted wet kisses, making his way up towards my crotch. His kept the kisses going as he went from skin to cloth and didn't stop his pace. His lips, my shorts, and my skin rubbed together softly, and then his mouth was right on my clit, and even through the layers I gasped. My hands, still on his hair, now actually did hold his mouth firmly onto the spot, pressing onto my clit as my hips rocked.

With one hand, he trailed down my body and slid it inside the leg of my shorts. His fingers gripped my ass and he pushed me into him harder. I growled and raised my hips, desperate for him to get his tongue inside me.

He felt me react and took his hand from my shorts. His fingers curled around the waistbands of my shorts and panties together and he tugged them down, lifting my legs up to pull them right off. He lowered my legs down and I lay in front of him, bare and ready, already feeling breathless. He smiled smugly and whispered, "Beautiful," and brought his head back down to me.

My skin is usually very ticklish and Greg knew it, so he again started by running his tongue up my legs and inner tights. But his kissing through my shorts must have already desensitized me, and I must not have squirmed as much as I normally do, since he very quickly made his way to the flesh around my pussy lips. He rubbed his nose into my skin and inhaled deeply, groaning at my scent.

He extended his tongue and licked one of my outer lips from top to bottom. The anticipation was making me crazy, but he stayed his own eagerness and mirrored the movement on the other side. From his throat came a sigh, which he caught and turned into an inquiring blow that send a rush of air through my moist slit. I jumped a little at the surprising sensation but it felt so good and sent my eyes fluttering. My fingers twirled unconsciously in his hair, and he kept blowing on me experimentally, up and down my slit.

Finally, after minutes of not actually touching me, I felt his full breath come on me, and then his tongue dipped down and landed squarely on the topside of my clit. My fingers stopped moving as my body reacted to the direct contact. He gently nudged my clit down a few times, adding to my wetness, and then he went down further, his upper lips catching my clit. He took it between lip and tongue, rolling them back and forth smoothly and sending an electric buzz through my core. His tongue deftly swept up and down without losing its grip. The rhythm of the changing texture of his tongue—bumpy on the top, slick and velvety on the underside—sent my body rocking.

"Oh god, yes!" I exclaimed.

I heard the sound of my own voice louder than I had expected, and the near silence of the garden struck me. The reality of the situation hit me—I was on my back, no pants, getting lip service from my newlywed husband, in the open air of a British royal palace grounds.

But instead of causing panic, the realization made me hotter. I had always had a bit of a public naughty streak—I was never too shy to give the boys a good flashing in high school, if the mood was right—although I'd never actually done anything out in the open like this.

Still, the thought of making love under an open sky or even—and now I felt goosebumps at the thought—even the possibility of getting caught was turning me on at least as much as Greg's wonderful tongue. I dug my fingers into his scalp and drew him further into me. He responded perfectly, picking up the pace of his licking.

I bent my knees a bit to give him even better access and he pushed himself forward a bit, wrapping a hand around one of my legs to pull me closer.

I don't know why, but however we were positioned caused his tongue and lips to hit just the right spot. A ripple of fire leapt from my clit to my brain with a single message: "Hold on tight!" A small but intense orgasm sent my hips bucking, and my arms and hands tensed, holding Greg exactly where he was. I twitched and my breath stopped as the peak vibrated through my limbs and made its way out through my toes.

"Fuck," I said simply when I could finally exhale. I panted, the sound of the garden fountain barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

"Not done yet," Greg chortled. "Keep your legs apart and get these wet for me," he commanded as he shifted over my right leg and brought two fingers up to my mouth. I complied instantly, wrapping my lips around his fingers and lapping them with my tongue greedily.

Satisfied, he retrieved his fingers and positioned them right at my wet entrance. They slid in effortlessly, filling me nicely. Now on his knees, Greg maneuvered his left hand up my shirt, pulling it up as he went. His fingers crept under my bra, sliding it off my breast and exposing the nipple. He bent over and started licking my nub, using the same technique he'd just been using on my clit. Now his fingers in my pussy started moving, rocking in and out.

I moaned as he attended to two parts of my body at once.

Then I moaned again as he extended his thumb, ran it up my slit to moisten it, and started vibrating it right on my clit. His lips and tongue stayed on my breast, mixing in little nippy bites and drawn out sucklings with his swirling tongue.